


Isosceles

by Alexfoster451



Category: iCarly
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexfoster451/pseuds/Alexfoster451
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddie does not date Sam...not at all...except for all the times he does. A series of moments from their lives. Future fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isosceles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt over at [5_4_3_2](http://community.livejournal.com/5_4_3_2/)  It was Matchmaker. Thank you for reading.

Title: Isosceles

Author: Alex Foster

Category: General

Word Count: 2,706

Warnings: Minor allusion to underage drug use but otherwise clean.

Rating: PG

Summary: Freddie does not date Sam...not at all...except for all the times he does. A series of moments from their lives. Future fic.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Dan Schneider. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Author’s Notes: Written for the prompt over at [5_4_3_2](http://community.livejournal.com/5_4_3_2/)  It was Matchmaker. Thank you for reading.

 

 _Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up._

-James Baldwin

 

 

It wasn’t something Freddie ever really thought about. Never entertained the finer details of the why. Of all the things he over thought in his life, a dislike of blind dates and fix ups just did not rank.

If he had to voice a reason, in his most cynical periods anyway, it was because of the simple fact that most only played matchmaker when they needed another couple to pair up with. Relationships eventually seemed to reach the state when one or both in the relationship decided to help their still single friends into double dates.

At his most optimistic (when Sam said he went all ‘chick flick’ on her) Freddie figured he didn’t like blind dates or fix ups because his tastes were specific—he decided he liked someone and that was that. There wasn’t room for interpretation or anyone else.

That argument didn’t hold water with much thought because as he grew through his teenage years the devotion to Carly dimmed to a nice friendly love. He didn’t twitch (much) when she would bring annoyingly cute boyfriends around.

It was friendly enough that he once let her talk him into a double date with the sister of her boyfriend of the moment. Then it was a tall lengthy guy that liked black turtlenecks and had (as Carly dreamily put it) the soul of a poet.

Freddie’s date did not share that familial gift. Eerily clad in a black turtleneck like her brother, complete with matching horn rimmed glasses, she spent an hour trying to convince him that woman’s hair removal was a vast conspiracy to crush feminism and return them all to Mary Homemaker days. And when men always paid for their date’s food it was spreading the antiquated notion of men buying women comforts in return for sexual favors.

Looking across the table, Freddie only found a halfhearted shrug and mouthed apology from Carly. He did the only thing that made sense: he texted Sam.

She burst into the restaurant fifteen minutes later in the middle of a rant about how he stood her up outside the school. To make it look good (and maybe because she enjoyed it) she hauled him to his feet and threw him bodily against the wall, jarring two framed watercolors loose and knocking them down.

He and Sam ran from the restaurant just a few steps ahead of the manager.

Later she made Freddie buy her a smoothie as a reward—and reminded him they weren’t even. Not by a longshot.

 

…

 

It pleased him deep inside to know the horrible things that happened when their friends played matchmaker extended to everyone and not just him. Well, Carly always seemed to luck out but at least it gave him fodder when Sam’s fell apart.

The summer before their senior year Freddie ended up driving Sam to a club to meet with the son of her mom’s newest boyfriend (yes, it was as skivey as it sounded) because that whole Washington state law against her driving hadn’t been lifted yet. And it would be bad form for her to steal a car because that was what her date got busted for a couple of months back.

"Come on, Fredward, do Mama a solid and I’ll even play wingman for you. We’ll find some drunk girl with no self-respect…maybe one who is blind."

Despite that and the fact he really didn’t have anything else to do on a Saturday night (and the bruised arm from where she pinned him to the kitchen counter until he agreed) he found himself completely out of his element in the back of the club at a table nursing a low calorie cream soda.

Sam’s date was what he had envisioned—complete with neck tattoos, greasy hair, and leather jacket. Freddie couldn’t help but glance down at himself and wonder if a peach colored polo was the correct wardrobe choice for this outing.

Even Sam seemed momentarily taken aback by the sight of her potential future stepbrother hookup. While Freddie looked on she cocked her head and said simply, ‘Huh."

And then they were lost in the dancing crowd and Freddie was the official drink getter and watcher for the evening.

An hour later Sam reappeared by herself and plopped heavily into his lap, her knee knocking into the table and spilling cream soda all over. Her skin, flushed from dancing, held a pleasing musky scent he normally associated with her after a particularly strenuous beat down.

Laughing just a little too loudly she kicked her feet and hooked an arm around his neck. "Blind dates suck. I’m ready to go, dork." He couldn’t help but stare at her dilated pupils, the normally black pinpoints were now like full moons ringed in slivers of blue. She rocked slightly on his lap.

"What about…" Freddie trailed off when he realized he never knew the name of her date.

"Trevor?" She gave a dismissive wave. "He’s a d-rag. I haven’t seen him since five minutes after we got here. Didn’t you know?"

" _No_." A flash of annoyance was quickly replace with something he couldn’t quite identify—a type of inexplicable relief maybe? Sam shifted once and then jumped back to her feet giving him (he wasn’t entirely sure) a wink as she did so. The cream soda must have gone to his head.

He found that annoyance emotion and several others when they walked outside and discovered that Trevor had stolen his car.

Sam sighed. "That was his third strike, too."

They ended up walking five blocks to a bus stop and switching routes twice. By the time he was within sight of home, Sam had mostly calmed from her dance club fervor and was back to her normal self. Though she did grab his hand and yank him into a burger joint because (her reasoning) late Saturday/early Sunday cheeseburgers were the best.

It was late and he had an uncomfortable conversation looming with his mother and then the police but he followed her anyway. He even managed to get half of his own burger down before she finished hers and slid his plate over.

"Face it, Fredward," she said around bites, "this is the most exciting date night you’ve had in your short inexperienced life."

Sad thing it was, but Freddie didn’t tell her that. He risked a dislocated finger and stole a french fry back.

 

…

 

Three weeks before graduation he agreed in a fit of madness to take out the little sister of Spencer’s latest girlfriend. Enough time had passed from his last double date with Spencer that both agreed if Freddie’s date went well there would be no board games what so ever when they did something as a group.

Several emails later and Freddie found himself actually having a good time with her over dinner. She laughed at that Galaxy Wars joke that always made Carly and Sam roll their eyes (Spencer totally got it though) and seemed interested when he caught himself talking about the optical specifications of his newest camera.

So wrapped up in the conversation was Freddie that he never noticed Sam march into the restaurant. She ranted about him standing her up outside the school and hauled him to his feet, slamming him against the wall for good measure and because she enjoyed it. Later he would marvel that the same two framed watercolors from the first time fell to the floor with the force of the blow.

When the manager finally stopped chasing them, Sam doubled over with laughter.

He sputtered but couldn’t seem to form enough words for a sentence. That was out of line even for her…And had she really waited _years_ just to do that prank?

"Oh come now, Fredbeagle," she said, sobering slightly, "you’ll thank me for that one day. If fact you will probably owe me for it. That girl had future crazy cat lady of America written all over her."

Freddie didn’t talk to her after that for two days and secretly plotted ways he could ruin her next date. Later Spencer told him the girl’s older sister was Miss Ackerman level crazy and he hoped it wasn’t a family trait.

Freddie never mentioned that fact to Sam and let the incident drop.

 

…

 

College did little to change his opinion of the fix up matter.

He joined a fraternity mostly for its appearance on his academic record and dated infrequently and hardly ever seriously. For the first few months it was a rub with the other brothers in the house. They would fix him up with co-eds, causally mentioning that he was "that tech guy" from iCarly. And then they would laugh when he failed to show much interest.

Carly’s school was several states away but that didn’t stop the daily phone calls, texts, and video chats. When his fraternity found out about his friendship with her they began teasing him about his long distance girlfriend and accepted that as the reason for his lackluster love life. Used to the misconception by then, Freddie didn’t bother correcting them but knew deep down that Carly didn’t have anything to do with it.

He was simply comfortable with the way things were.

Sam hardly ever called or texted him. Instead he received weekly, and occasionally daily, postcards in the mail from her. Forgoing college life after graduation, she had ventured out on what she called the Grand Puckett Road Trip. Her goal was a diner in all fifty states.

She sent him pictures of the sun from California, snakes from Arizona, grilled meat from Texas (a thumbprint of barbecue sauce marring the folded down corner), and golden corn from Nebraska. Sometimes she sent the cards blank save for his name and address, having hastily dropped them in a mailbox, others she wrote long rambling notes in her blocky scribble that filled the margins.

When those long letters about nothing came in from her, Freddie knew to call or text to relieve her (always unspoken) fear that college would forever divide the three of them.

Near the end of freshmen year, Sam just showed up at the fraternity one day. The house woke to find her sprawled across the sofa, sleeping off a long road trip.

She stayed a week, expected Freddie to buy her breakfast every morning, and proved a popular addition to the house despite his dismay.

Sam demanded a party because (her words) what sort of lame fraternity didn’t have a party every night? Oh right, one that would take Freddie as a pledge.

The house was happy to oblige and even embraced the concept of Random Dancing she suggested.

Freddie figured he would spend the length of the party in his room studying, as he had for every other house party, but Sam opened his door and walked in uninvited and cut that plan short. Her lock picking tools vanishing discreetly into the deep pockets of her cargo shorts as she shut the door.

Seemingly oblivious to the loud screams and music thumping from the hallway, she sat on his floor and wasted away the party she had asked for. They told familiar stories about Carly, relived the old days, and she told him how lucky he was that she had decided to visit.

Freddie understood that was code for _thank you for still having a place for me_.

He didn’t tell her about the stack of saved postcards in his dresser drawer—she would just call him a sappy chick for keeping them.

And she already knew.

 

…

 

Freddie and Sam were each other’s plus one to Carly’s wedding.

It made a certain kind of sense at the time. Neither were dating anyone serious enough to take to an out of state wedding, and they were sharing Maid of Honor duties after all—Freddie handling all the planning, flowcharts, and (Sam’s words) girly stuff while she took care of the fun bits. He did draw the line at helping with hair and makeup though.

Carly had laughed at some private joke and suggested it would be easier if they just went with each other since they were splitting wedding chores. Oddly enough Sam didn’t retch at the idea and told him what time to pick her up and he agreed without a pause. If he was honest he had already figured they were going together even without Carly’s prompting.

Side by side they stood up for their long time friend, handled the freakouts (Carly's), the tears (Spencer's), and pulled off a good show. They could still work well with each other when they wanted to.

"This whole thing must awesomely suck for you," Sam told him later in the nearly deserted reception hall.

All the items were marked off on his event checklist, Carly was on the way to the airport, and only a few stragglers remained behind. He and Sam sat at one of the cleared off tables in the center of the room. A shared bottle of champagne rested between them. She slouched in her seat and propped her bare feet up on a chair next to him. A pair of white high-heeled shoes balanced on her stomach.

Freddie didn’t bother looking over at her—he was too tired to move and had already paid the photographer extra to email him the visual evidence of Sam Puckett in a pink bridesmaid dress. "No, not really. Not for a long time—I’ve told you that, Sam. Plus they are good together."

"Yeah." Sam took a swig of champagne right from the bottle. "Sucks a little though, right?"

"Little bit."

She nudged him with the bottle a couple of times before he took it from her. "For me too." It was the first time she’d admitted any worry out loud about losing Carly from their group, even when they split between two colleges and a cross country road trip.

Now he rolled his head to look at her. It was frighteningly deceptive, but she seemed softer and more feminine while wearing an ugly dress, blonde hair done up in ringlets, and with a little alcohol in her. "Not everything will change, you know that right? Carly will still be Carly and the three of us will still be close. The world hasn’t invented anything able to come between us yet. And the two of us will still be the same."

Sam made a face at him. "You makin’ a move on a lonely bridesmaid at a wedding, Fredward? Slick."

The idea of those blackmail photos sitting in his email account had made him brave. "Well, technically, I’m making a move on my date."

She gave him a sly smile. "Are you now? Look at Fredward in his big boy pants."

Freddie rolled his eyes and didn’t take the bait. He was too tired to banter and play. "Forget it."

They sat in comfortable silence for a long while, watching as people trickled out of the hall and the cleaning staff began picking up. A familiar sense that he couldn’t quite place tickled the back of his neck. Almost déjà vu.

"This was a fix up, you know?" she suddenly blurted, breaking the spell. "Us."

"What?"

"Carly guilt. I think she wanted us to look after each other while she was off not leaving the honeymoon suite."

Freddie winced at that crude image. "Well, that is just crazy."

"I know, right? You would think she of all people would understand us better than that."

"Yeah."

They were the only guests left in the hall now and Freddie noticed the staff shooting them impatient glances. His body rebelled at the thought of moving but it was time to go. He set the champagne bottle on the floor and pushed to his feet. "I think there’s a Good Burger down the street from here. You coming?"

"You buyin’?"

Freddie sighed. "Well, you are my date so I have to. It's a whole antiquated notion."

Sam slowly stood, stepped into her shoes, and wobbled slightly before sobering. "That’s a good boy."

Yeah, Carly should have known better, Freddie thought. He and Sam had been looking after each other since ninth grade. They didn’t tell each other that though. It was understood.

 

 ****

End


End file.
